


Beautiful War

by dragonswithjetpacks



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Rivals to Lovers, Slow Burn, Tension With Eventual Resolve, rivals to friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:47:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29725071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonswithjetpacks/pseuds/dragonswithjetpacks
Summary: (WIP on the summary, I'll get to it later)Dame Claira Trevelyan is known to be a stubborn and off-putting woman. She was always told she never amounted to anything, that she was never pretty or graceful enough to marry. She believed that for the longest time. But her strength and her compassion managed to catch the eye of someone beyond her what she imagined possible. A man just as stubborn and oblivious to how his feelings for his leader are more than just respect.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Cullen Rutherford/Trevelyan, Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Kudos: 5





	1. A Path Not Chosen

**Author's Note:**

> Cullen romance is a really popular genre for fanfic. So thank you for stopping by, even just for a moment. A few things before we get started. One, I have issues with Cullen. And I have tried to address that in this fic. Though not too much as to completely change his character. Two, a lot of dialogue is awkward and of course, I've made some adjustments. Three, Claira is not a mage. She is a warrior. This is currently listed as general. But will have graphic depictions later. The tags and ratings are likely to change. And I think that's it!

The cold wind stung the tip of her nose. And at that moment it was all she could feel. Everything else was completely numb. Her thoughts began to wander back to the prison cell. The chains around her wrist. She wanted to remember the answers to the questions shouted at her, but she couldn't. It was as if waking from one dream only to arrive in another. Nothing felt real. Not even when she closed the rift on the mountain path. She looked down at her hand.

"You have the mark."

The sound of crashing and fighting were muffled around her in an instant. She was always surrounded by violence, but not like this. This was not how she intended to live. Not in a war. And in perhaps another time, not that long ago, she would have fought anyone for the Chantry. Part of her agreed she more than likely would, still. But now they held her accountable for so many deaths. And it brought back the resentment she had been struggling with.

"And you are the one we must keep alive. Since we cannot agree on our own… " 

Cassandra's voice, though still sounding distant, was much less threatening than before. Leliana stood beside her waiting for an answer. It would not come so easily. The lives already lost were her fault. The slate was not cleared and without a memory, her consciousness felt heavy. She couldn't bear to be responsible for more lives. But if she refused...

"Claira!"

Reality snapped back as quick as the green lightning that flashed across the sky. Claira looked up in time to hear it rip through the clouds. There was no time for this. Her inner workings were only a part of the problem. There was something bigger at hand fighting against her. She needed to use what she knew to get to it. It was not the path she chose, but it was still the path she was on. If her training taught her anything, it was to always move forward.

"I say we charge," she finally replied, looking back over her shoulder to Cassandra. "I won’t survive long enough for your trial. Whatever happens, happens now."

"Fair enough," the Seeker nodded with approval. "Leliana, bring everyone left in the valley. Everyone."

In a swift motion, Leliana turned and set off down the hill. Cassandra began to gather belongings strewn about her war table. Varric checked the strings on his crossbow. And Solas stood quietly watching. Claira looked down, knowing she did not have much. It was only the Orlesian armor she had arrived with. Her sword had been lost at the temple. And what she carried now was a cheap blade that had fallen off a cart. It would have to do. She laughed to herself quietly, catching Solas's attention and causing him to raise a brow.

"I've been running away to find my freedom for years," she shook her head. "And here I am. Once again being forced down a path I did not choose."

"That doesn't always mean it's the wrong one. Come, the soldiers are ready to march," he placed a hand on her shoulder.

"On your head be the consequences, Seeker," Roderick called after them as they eagerly left the bridge.

The final decision was not hers to make. The task had been passed off to Claira, who wondered if it was just indecisiveness or a pull at power. It was certainly easier to put such matters off to someone smaller than yourself. In the end, however, Cassandra would have to take the blame for Claira's actions. But Claira would be the one who suffered. Not only because of the Seeker, but because of the effects that followed her choice. Many soldiers followed behind her. And many more who were injured. The pounding in her head wasn't loud enough to drown out the thoughts of leading them to their death. Or leaving behind the scouts lost to the mountain.

"Ahead!" Cassandra shouted as they peaked the hill.

It was scattered with debris and corpses and the sound of metal clashing could be heard. The able soldiers drew their swords, running ahead in front of the group. Those awaiting further instructions for battle at the path greeted them. Together, they combined the efforts for a charge.

"Look out!" Claira shouted, switching her footing to sprint.

But it was too late. A meteor fell from the sky, burning with green flame. It crashed into the ground, crushing one of the men and killing him instantly. This did not stop her, and she could hear the others just behind her quicken their pace as well. The soldier who faltered saw her coming and even shaken, they pressed forward with her. Their force was at full sprint. And as they made their way to the ruin, they could see a faint green glow.

"Be wary," Solas called from behind them. "Another fade rift!"

It was different than before. The air was thinner. And the monsters were foul. They were crawling out of it, falling onto the soldiers below. Their cries sent a chill down her spine and she slowed to a halt when she reached the battlefield. There were so many dead. And so many still fighting. The rift cracked and another wave of demons spilled onto the earth.

" How many rifts are there?" Varric panted beside her.

"We must seal it if we are to get past!" Solas drew his barrier.

"Quickly then!" Cassandra readied her shield and rushed into the fight. 

The survival of everyone around her depended on her. Regardless of her comrades and the length of time they had together, they were her allies. Her sword would not be enough. She scanned the dead before her. Thanking the corpse under her breath, she drew a dagger from his belt and placed it into her own. With any luck, it would be all she needed. There wasn't time to further examine the field and she followed after Cassandra with gritted teeth.

There was no mistaking, these demons were not only stronger but larger. Their limbs were weak, but with their reach, they were able to take out two men in one blow. They could teleport and they could stop a soldier where they stood with a shout. There would be no holding back. The weight on her shoulders would simply have to be set aside to win this. They were nearly outnumbered, the field littered in wounded, and the ground was thick in smoke and fog. She would have to seal the rift quickly.

Just breathe. Focus. Breathe... focus...

A demon barreled down on all fours, shouting out and causing the men surrounding it to drop to their knees. But Claira was just a few feet within reach. She pushed off her dominant foot and lowered her knee, sliding into the demon and thrusting her sword underneath it. Its neck was left open and the blood of the monster poured into the dirt. As she swung upward, she plunged her dagger into its side. It stumbled over but was not dead. With the men able to get back onto their feet, they continued their attack. Claira rose and raced to a group of Shades who were headed for a group of injured men trying to flee. 

"Your shield!" she cried out.

Confused but not questioning the woman heading toward them, a man threw his shield out to her. She caught it just as a rage demon crawled from under the ground. The men headed toward Claira. And had reached them just in time to reflect the flames. She angled the shield, causing a wave to scorch the shades around them. They cried out, and the rage demon paused. At that moment, Claira pushed her weight against it and made the demon fall back. The soldiers weren't sure exactly how many swings it took to take down the shades. Her movements were fluid, like dancing. And when a shade attempted to escape, she threw the shield, knocking it into a pile of dust.

"Is that the prisoner?" one of them asked. 

"I don't care who she is. Maker, she's a sodding blessing."

The rage demon would be the difficult one. She pushed her back, wiping dirt across her forehead. Her teeth clenched and all she had left was her sword. But it was all she ever needed. She spun it in her hand, swung her dominant foot behind her, and crouched with her free hand behind her back. The demon let out a roar, lashing out at her in fury. It grew larger the more it swung, but Claira used the weight of its swings to deflect it. It was only a matter of time before his flames would return and she would have to think fast in order to dodge. When the time came, and it paused to inhale, Claira quickly rolled back to avoid the blast. Dust flew around her and she could only see the glow of it in front of her. 

The demon rose, ready to slam his entire being upon her. Her strength alone would not be enough. But she had no choice. She rose her sword, blocking the blow. And shattering her sword. The impact sent her backward, and it took a few steps to catch her footing. As she backed up, she hit something firm. It was enough for her to regain her balance. 

"Who on earth are you?" 

The man she had crashed into had to shout in order to for his voice to reach her. He bolstered his weight to support her leaning against him as if he were some kind of wall. He was cloaked in red with a silver shield. 

"Claira Trevelyan," she shouted back. "But most call me the prisoner."

"The prisoner," he looked over his shoulder. "You've been released?"

"You're worried about that now?" she looked up at him with a raised brow.

"Nevermind that. I'll handle this. You have to get to Cassandra!" he cried.

He was right. Cassandra was nearing the rift, clearing a path. But she would be overrun soon if Claira did not act fast. Without another second, she pushed off the man. He, in return, spun off her countering weight to face the rage demon. There was just enough time to glance back to watch Claira at full speed dodging through his soldiers. The way she fought and moved was familiar, but nothing he had seen in some time. Her footing was fast. And she did not hesitate to rush into combat with hardly a weapon. She was only seconds away when Cassandra met her.

"Go!" Cassandra shouted, and Claira did not slow down.

The rift was twisting and churning just ahead. As she grew close, she threw up her hand. The shock of the force coming from it brought her to a complete stop, digging her heels into the dirt and raising more dust. The rift would not close now. But instead, sent out a wave, causing the demons to cry out in pain. The soldiers used their vulnerability and began to strike them down. Claira stepped forward, bringing the stream closer to close the rift. As the final demon fell, the rift was suddenly weaker. And in a flash, it was done.

"Sealed... as before," Solas approached her. "You are becoming quite proficient at this."

"Let’s hope it works on the big one," Varric sheathed his crossbow.

Claira threw her sword at her feet, buckling over to grab her knees. She laughed in disbelief between breaths, looking up to her new friends as she shook her head. They were shortly joined by Cassandra and the man with the shield from before. They were both panting, as she was. And the only one not covered in dirt was Solas.

"Lady Cassandra, you managed to close the rift? Well done," the man stated.

"Do not congratulate me, Commander," she replied. "This is the prisoner’s doing."

His look came off a surprise when he turned to look at Claira. It was then he recognized it was the woman on the battlefield that saved a group of his men. The same woman who fought off a rage demon with nothing but a sword. He knew about the prisoner but very little else of the power the mark on her handheld. It had not occurred to him that she was this valuable.

"Is it?" his brow was raised. "I hope they’re right about you. We’ve lost a lot of people getting you here."

The pain came instantly as if his words were a dagger themselves. The little confidence she regained on the battlefield was lost and it took everything she had not to lash out. However, there was little time and an even smaller amount of information between the two of them. Blame could not yet be placed. Still, it didn't seem fair that even more lives were piled onto her consciousness. She felt trapped as the weight she had cast aside was slowly placed back on her shoulders. Tightening her clenched fists, she took a deep breath before she responded. 

"You’re not the only one hoping that," she relaxed her hands.

"We’ll see soon enough, won’t we."

His look was smug and it sent a deep rage smoldering into her chest. She didn't deserve that look. Especially after helping his men on the battlefield. He didn't trust her. But she wasn't a fool. There was no need to prove anything to a man like that. To everyone else, however, she felt a strong determination to show them what her heart was made of. That this path that she was on would be her destiny. And that she would find her freedom again.


	2. The Herald of Andraste

Everything was green. The sky. The temple. The faces of her friends. The rift below the Breach cast such a strong glow. The ruins were unrecognizable. It was hard to believe that whatever happened to her was the cause of such destruction. It haunted her. And that thing that came out was even worse. It was there hiding in her mind, even though she had slain it. It was a reminder of what was to come. The other rifts and the Breach were still out there. And there was the mystery of the mark which cracked loudly at her side.

Claira shot up, suddenly aware she was dreaming. The room around her was unfamiliar. It was difficult to stand, but she was determined to discover her location. There was evidence that others had been in the room: journal entries, empty mugs, and plates, various potions scattered about the room. She was glancing over a log of her symptoms when the door opened. A small elf woman carrying supplies stopped when she noticed Claira.

"Oh!" she dropped what was in her hands. "I didn't know you were awake. I swear!"

"It's quite all right," Claira smiled kindly. "Don't worry about it. I only-"

The elven woman fell to the floor. "I beg your forgiveness and your blessing. I am but a humble servant."

"I don't understand," she looked out in hopes someone else was there.

"You are back in Haven, my Lady. They say you saved us. The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand. It’s all anyone has talked about for the last three days."

"Three days?" Claira gasped. "Did we seal the Breach?"

"The Breach is still in the sky," the woman stood up. "But that's what they say."

"What do you mean what they say? Am I still on trial?"

"I'm certain Lady Cassandra would want to know you've wakened. She said 'At once'."

"And where is she?" Claira attempted to step forward.

"In the Chantry, with the Lord Chancellor. 'At once,' she said," the woman darted out the door before Claira could ask any more questions.

Confused and wary, she looked around the rest of the room. Was she to wait until Cassandra greeted her? How long was she supposed to remain in this room? Was she not a prisoner any longer? Feeling annoyed all the same, she decided to leave in search of answers. Cassandra would be the only one able to provide them. The door had swung shut behind the elf. And when Claira opened it after putting her boots on, she was met by a large number of Haven's refugees.

It appeared everyone in Haven had gathered around her cabin. The elven girl had announced her awakening. And in response, the people lined up along the path to the Chantry. They all wanted to see her. As she walked by, they began to whisper. Though, some of them shouted and pointed as she went up the stairs. But together, they all said the same things. 

"Go in peace, Herald of Andraste."

_ Herald of what? _

It appeared that Claira was no longer a criminal. No-one stopped her from walking into the Chantry. Something had happened while she slept. She recalled approaching the rift and seeing a mysterious figure left from memories etched into what was bleeding from the fade. The repeating memory did not make certain Claira's involvement of the explosion. However, it was clear she was making an attempt to save the Divine. This new information was enough to make Claira some sort of an ally. But not a blessed savior. Wanting an explanation, she followed the only voices she could hear echoing into the Chantry hall.

"Have you gone completely mad?" the voice was angry "She should be taken to Val Royeaux immediately, to be tried by whoever becomes Divine!"

"I do not believe she is guilty," Cassandra was surprisingly calm.

"The prisoner failed, Seeker. The Breach is still in the sky. For all you know, she intended it this way," Claira suddenly recognized the voice of Chancellor Roderick.

"I do not believe that."

The Chancellor was reaching. He had no evidence other than his foolish assumptions. Because of this, many of his followers had begun to doubt him. It made him persistent. He was desperate to find someone to blame for the actions at the Conclave. No doubt, the sooner he could get a handle on the situation and take advantage of the panic over the people, the more likely he was to rise on to a pedestal. Perhaps not as Divine, but most certainly a highly spoken member of the Chantry. But Claira could tell his plan was backfiring. 

"That is not for you to decide. Your duty is to serve the Chantry."

"My duty is to serve the principles on which the Chantry was founded, Chancellor. As is yours."

This was more than what Claira could stand. Before Roderick could mouth anything else of an ignorant nature, she opened the door. The sight of the templar guards made her pause. But Leliana and Cassandra remained at the far end of the table unmoved. Roderick was wide-eyed and red-faced at the other side.

"Chain her," he sounded confident. "I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial."

"Disregard that, and leave us."

Roderick seemed surprised that the templars left him. He was was so desperate for control, he had forgotten Cassandra lead the people at Haven. No matter how often he denied it and her order, it was not enough to put him in any place to bark orders. Claira remembered the inner turmoil the nulled Accord had caused between her family. It was doing the very same in Haven, it seemed. 

"You walk a dangerous line, Seeker." 

Cassandra and Leliana both glanced at each other, victorious once again against the Chancellor. Roderick must have been nipping at their heels for some time. Perhaps even before the Temple. His hunger for a place with power was growing.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," Claira smirked. "But I was hoping one of you could explain what happened?"

"The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat," Cassandra replied. "I will not ignore it."

"So it stopped spreading? I suppose that's the best I could do, then," she looked down at the mark glowing on her hand. "It almost killed me."

"Yet you live. A convenient result, insofar as you’re concerned," he proclaimed sarcastically.

"Have a care, Chancellor. The Breach is not the only threat we face," Cassandra spat back.

"Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave," Leliana pitched in. "Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others — or have allies who yet live."

Roderick was taken aback by her statement. " I am a suspect?"

"You, and many others," her response was cold.

"But not the prisoner," he scoffed.

"I heard the voices in the temple. The Divine called to her for help," Cassandra affirmed.

"So her survival, that thing on her hand — all a coincidence?"

"Providence," she stood straight. "The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour."

The realization was so sudden, she almost did not catch it. Claira was a prophet. A divine intervention for the Chantry's cause. Though the chains had been removed the day before, the true weight of them had fallen off. The cage was lifted. Perhaps she was placed on this path... not forced.

"Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide," she murmured under her breath. "Are you sure?"

"We lost everything... then, out of nowhere, you came," Cassandra's voice was reassuring. 

"The Breach remains, and your mark is still our only hope of closing it," Leliana remained practical.

"This is not for you to decide," Roderick argued.

The air in the room thickened as the women became increasingly agitated. Roderick refused to back down, even when he was the only one in the room with a disagreeing opinion. Cassandra, having enough of his nonsense, turned to grab a book from a desk nearby. She slammed it onto the table, rattling it and knocking over several war pieces. The book was thick and old with an eye insignia embellished in the center. Claira recognized it from her time studying in Orlais.

"Do you know what this is, Chancellor?" she questioned. "A writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn. We will close the breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order. With or without your approval."

She finalized her threat with an aggressive finger toward the Chancellor, who waved his hands in the air before leaving the room. The moment the door shut behind him, the three of them shared a sigh of relief. Cassandra straightened her tunic under her vest. Leliana had managed to maintain her anger, but she knew her partner was seconds away from attacking the Chancellor. Claira, on the other hand, appeared very out of place. The hooded woman caught her attention with a gaze and gestured toward the book on the table.

"This is the Divine’s directive," she explained. "To rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos. We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now... no Chantry support."

"But we have no choice. We must act now. With you at our side," Cassandra pushed the tome in Claira's direction.

Claira reached out, running her fingers across the top of the book. The knowledge behind it was tempting, even if the offer was not. Everything she knew about the Inquisition had been gathered from other books. It wasn't common practice to study the Inquisition, but instead to praise the emperor of the time who founded the Circles. But the Circles were no longer relevant. Nor the Templar Order. There was no control.

"I want to help," Claira stated quietly without looking up. "I grew up believing I was going to protect others. I wanted to make a difference. If I can be a Herald for the people, then I'll help restore order."

"That is the plan," Leliana smiled.

A hand entered her view, outstretched across the table. Claira looked up into the eyes of the Seeker. Taking her hand meant the end of her world. But saving the one she lived in became more appealing the longer she looked at that hand. This was war. This was the Inquisition. This was her path. 

  
  



	3. Meeting the Advisors

Claira was distracted by the great hall of the Chantry dimly it at dusk, creating hues of gold, orange, and red across the rafters. It was a nice break from the thoughts of the newly formed Inquisition and the work she put forth to create it. She was also still recovering from her last battle at the Breach, expecting the tension in her arm to ease after days of rest. Alas, the pulsing irritated the palm of her hand. Oftentimes, there was a pain that took over. It was nothing like a physical wound that would have occurred, but more like a migraine that overtook her body. She felt it from her wrist, up her arm, all the way to the back of her neck. And as she looked down at the mark, she flexed her fingers, wondering if her own emotions were sometimes responsible for the mark acting on its own. 

"Does it trouble you?" Cassandra asked, obviously observing Claira's motions as they walked along.

"It does at times. But it is a burden I am willing to bear," she managed to give Cass a slight grin to mask her own concern.

"What's important is that your mark is now stable. As is the Breach. You've given us time. And Solas believes that next time you might succeed provided the Mark has more power... the same level of power used to open the Breach in the first place. That is not easy to come by."

"Perhaps not," she said softly, stopping for a moment as the mark warmed on her hand. "Still, we should be cautious. We don't quite know what we are dealing with, yet."

"Of course," she nodded in agreement. 

Claira could tell that Cassandra was attempting to make amends for the wrongs she committed before. It wasn't easy to forgive and she was still hesitant, but Claira was trying to be more compassionate toward her companion. The bruises were just only beginning to fade from her chains which made it more difficult to accept her role in the Inquisition. She wondered if the others would have an easier time accepting her more than she did herself. Cassandra opened the door at the end of the hall, ready to introduce the Herald. Claira stepped inside, her eyes resting upon the war table for the second time. 

The room had been further occupied since her last visit a few days before. The map was stretched from one corner to the other with markers and pieces pinned in various locations. But there were more books stacked to the side. Scrolls were strewn about and miscellaneous bottles and quills sat close by waiting to be used. Her heart raced at the sudden reality of the situation. Her hands would be on that war table. They would move those pieces. Realizing how naive she looked with such an enamored gaze, she lifted her eyes to greet the other faces before her.

Leliana was easily recognizable and she gave a small nod in her direction. The third woman in the room, however, was not one she was familiar with. She had seemed preoccupied, however, and Claira did not dwell on her for too long. Instead, she moved on to the next face of the only man in the room. The man she had met on the battlefield before.

"You’ve met Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces," Cassandra properly introduced him.

"It was only for a moment on the field. I’m pleased to see you survived," he said with what Claira felt was a forced smile.

Claira held her gaze on him during their introduction. And he held his as well. The tension in her chest rose as she could not help but feel challenged. The statement he made the day they met had not left her. And she felt the doubt coming from him as he examined her. She did the very same in return and as a result, they both stood proudly before one another across the war table, much like two stags ready to rut. 

"You as well, Commander," she nodded in an attempt to be polite.

"This is Lady Montilyet," Cassandra continued. "Lady Ambassador and chief diplomat."

The name Montilyet quickly drew her attention.

"I've heard much. It's a pleasure to meet you at last," she said beaming with a warm expression that made everything melt around her.

"My family does business with the Montilyets," Claira gave a slight bow.

"They do indeed. I have not had the pleasure, myself. But I'm eager to be working alongside you."

"And of course you've met Sister Leliana," Cassandra went on.

"My position here involves a degree of-"

"She is our spymaster," the Seeker interrupted.

"Yes," Leliana sighed. "Tactfully put, Cassandra."

"How impressive," Claira said while folding her hands neatly behind her back. "It's a pleasure to meet you all."

Truthfully, there was nothing pleasurable about the situation. As she stood there, her heartbeat recklessly against her chest. She had little to no information about these people, other than what Cassandra provided, of course. On the other hand, she was fairly certain they had an entire file of her history. It was not difficult to trace as her family was so well known. She was even slightly embarrassed as to what they might have found. Was she an entitled brat or the black sheep? It made her feel out of place once again and she had not the slightest idea of how she would be of any use other than closing rifts. The only thing she knew for certain was that she would do what was necessary.

"I mentioned that your Mark needs more power to close the Breach for good," Cassandra went on.

"Which means we must approach the rebel mages for help," Leliana stated boldly. 

"And I still disagree," Cullen followed. "The templars can serve just as well."

Cassandra let out an aggravated sigh. "We need power, Commander," she growled. "Enough magic poured into that Mark-"

"Might destroy us all," Cullen ended her statement. "Templars could suppress the Breach; weaken it so-"

"Pure speculation," Leliana chimed in. 

"I was a templar," he said, glaring at the spymaster from across the table. "I know what they are capable of."

"Unfortunately, neither group will even speak to us, yet," Josephine had finally managed to find a place where her voice could fit in. "That Chantry has denounced the Inquisition. And you specifically," she pointed the end of her quill at Claira.

The attention was back on Claira. And she was very much concerned. The way they bantered amongst one another made her feel as if there was no room at all. Let alone a topic to discuss. "Me?"

"Some are calling you the Herald of Andraste. That frightens the Chantry. The remaining Clerics have declared it 'blasphemy'. And we, 'heretics' for harboring you."

"Chancellor Rodericks doing, no doubt," Cassandra said, leaning against the table.

For the majority of her life, Claira had remained loyal to the Chantry. It was until a few years ago, she gave up her life as a noble within the Trevelyan family. It was almost ironic that now would be the time her faith was tested. The only thing that made it seem more unrealistic was the fact that she had a title. To be perfectly honest with herself, she wanted the title. She wanted to be the Herald. And she wanted to believe that it was by the will of the Maker that it was bestowed upon her. 

"It limits our options. Approaching the mages or templars for help is currently out of the question," Josephine proceeded, interrupting Claira's thoughts.

Claira was still hung up on her newly appointed title. "Before we get ahead of ourselves, here, just how am I the Herald of Andraste?"

"People saw what you did at the Temple. How you stopped the Breach from growing. They have also heard about the woman seen in the rift when we first found you. They believe that was Andraste," Cassandra reassured her.

"Even if we tried to stop that view from spreading-" Leliana was soon cut off.

"Which we have not," Cassandra's voice rang. It was clear her voice was strongest.

Claira watched as Leliana swayed in her stance, her eyes narrowing at her fellow Hand. "The point is," she continued, "everyone is talking about you."

"It's quite the title isn't it?" Cullen appeared to be somewhat intrigued. His voice was very different from before. It was almost soft. "How do you feel about that?"

The smile he fed her seemed some form of mockery. She could be wrong, and she would be willing to admit it. It could have very well been her own opinion blocking a clear path to judgment. But that did not stop her from talking down the feelings of resentment.

"I'm honored by it," she said boldly. 

Cullen chuckled. "Your confidence is inspiring."

"People are desperate," Leliana snapped, despite Cullen's light mood. "They pray for a sign of hope. For some, you're that sign."

"And to others," Josephine's smooth voice slid in, "a symbol of everything that's gone wrong."

"So if I wasn't with the Inquisition..." she leaned forward. 

"Let's be honest," Cullen's voice remained rather cheery. "They would have censored us no matter what."

"And you not being here isn't an option," Cassandra turned to glare at her.

"Then there is no turning back," she looked over her new companions. "But I'm not sure what kind of use I will be."

"There is something you can do," Leliana butted in, changing the mood. "A Chantry cleric by the name of Mother Giselle has asked to speak with you. She is not far and knows those involved far better than I. Her assistance could be invaluable."

"Why would someone from the Chantry help a declared heretic?"

"I understand she is a reasonable sort. Perhaps she does not agree with her Sisters? You will find Mother Giselle tending to the wounded in the Hinterlands near Redcliffe."

"Look for other opportunities to expand the Inquisition's influence while you're there," Cullen stated. 

"He's right. We need agents to extend our reach beyond this valley. And you're better suited than anyone to recruit them," Josie purred.

"I'll do what I can," Claira nodded.

"In the meantime," Cassandra once again rose her voice, "let's think of other options. I won't leave this all to the Herald."

"We  better get started, then," Claira shrugged with a heavy sigh, feeling both a sense of joy and a feeling of panic. "I will plan for our trip to the Hinterlands."

After no one else said anything after the dismissal, Claira turned to leave the table. Cassandra followed, holding the door open as they left. Claira assumed the advisers had much to discuss since they remained behind. She walked once again down the Chantry hall, staring down at her feet. Cassandra's footsteps were not far behind.

"Thank you," Claira said while glancing over her shoulder. 

"For what?" she asked plainly. 

"For what you said in there," Claira paused so she could catch up. "I hope I do not appear incompetent."

"Of course not," she said, but there was a skeptical tone in her voice. "Besides, I am not the only one who is willing to help you. Which reminds me, I've been meaning to give you this."

Cassandra reached into a pocket on her side. It was a small envelope. And the letter was sealed with wax. It was the Trevelyan House. Thinking it was just a way for her mother to try and benefit from her glory, she tore carelessly into the letter. Her eyes scanned over the first few words before she covered her mouth and her eyes filled with tears.

"It's from my brother," she smiled.

* * *

_ Claira, _

_ I hope this letter finds you well. I'm sorry I couldn't deliver it myself. But I trust these men with my life. Let me just start by saying how incredibly relieved I am to find that you are alive. When I heard you had joined our family to the Conclave, I became utterly distraught. I knew it would be my fault if anything had happened to you. I should have written to them sooner. It seems things ended in your favor, though. What do they call you now? Herald of Andraste? They say you crawled through the fire at the hands of the Bride herself. You will have to tell me the story. These fools exaggerate, not that I doubt you, little sister. In the meantime, I suppose I owe you an explanation at the very least. _

_ After I was made a templar, the Knight Commander refused to send me to Kirkwall. All within good reason, I suppose. But they simply held me back for our mother's sake. I wrote to her expressing my anger. It was then I learned you had been sent to Orlais. I wish I could have stopped her. I didn't write to her after that. She had written me only a few times. Once to tell me you had fled Orlais. And a second time to ask if I was alright after the Chantry incident in Kirkwall. If there were any others, I did not receive them. Ostwick was held under tight surveillance. I barely ate or slept. The mages were mostly content, however. I felt as if maybe we were doing something right. _

_ Still, that didn't stop the rebels. We tried to reason with them. But they attacked many of the templars on sight. I took the remaining mages and left. They couldn't go home. And they had no Circle to go back to. So I took care of them. I protected them along with two other templars while war waged around him. We came across several other mages who appeared to be passive. Some of them even rebels. They're lost, Claira. Many of them don't know what to do. Or who to follow. They want freedom, not the violence that follows. They want change, and I do not blame them. I have heard their stories. Ostwick was a rare occurrence for mages to live in peace. The other Circles were not so pleasant.  _

_ So you see, I was afraid to write to anyone. I knew I would only upset Mother and she would send for me at once. I wanted to remain hidden. That is until I thought you were dead. I returned home for a short time. You should have seen the look on mother's face when she found out they called you Herald. She's been dropping your name every chance she gets and using it to her advantage. Father is quite proud. He sends his love, of course. But I've left them a few months ago to continue my aid to protect the mages. That is my job, after all. _

_ Listen to me Claira... there is more to this war than you know. Many of the templars we've come across are slaughtering anyone who even looks like a mage. Some have attempted to cut my men down after discovering our charges. Some of these mages were my friends before the rebellion. Now I have gained many more. They have even saved my life on a few occasions. I just want them to be safe and to live happy lives. If that means their freedom, then I'm willing to fight for that cause. I will for as long as it takes. The Chantry can't go on like this anymore. _

_ Several of the other templars have confessed their desire to join your cause. I have sent them with the hopes I can one day join them. Claira, if anyone can sort this out, it's you. You're smart. Smarter than the lot of us. I know you can make a difference. Don't tell Sam I said that. _

_ All My Love, _

_ Jordan _


	4. Agree to Disagree

The requisitions for the journey into the Hinterlands were well underway. Word had not yet arrived how successful the troops were with aiding the refugees. But Claira had suspected the constant warfare in the area had much to do with their letters being intercepted. Or that there may have not been a chance to write at all. With her going to the Hinterlands, it would provide the others in the Inquisition with enough information to proceed further with their plans on the Breach. It was important not just as her first mission, but the Inquisition's as well. She needed to be ready.

"You're sure you don't need more?" Harritt asked as she watched the last of the supplies being loaded onto a cart.

"I'm certain, Harritt. If I take anymore, we'd be low on stock here. I'd hate to put you behind in orders."

"It's no trouble, my Lady. I'm happy to help."

"And I appreciate it every bit of," Claira smiled.

"How about the new setup? Is it fitting well?"

Harrit had known the lady was a warrior but heeded her request to remain flexible. The leathers were hardened but the metal was light, granting her the protection she required but also the movement of a quickened fighter. She looked down to admire her armor, fitted specifically to her measurements. With a smile, she could not recall the last time something was made so well for her.

"Like a glove," she patted her chest piece.

"So glad to hear it," he smiled proudly. "If I don't see you before you set off, make sure you take of yourself!"

"You as well, my friend," Claira waved and began to make her way toward the door into Haven.

The snow was falling lightly on the mountain and the sun was just warm enough to keep the bitterness at bay. It was a good sign. Claira pulled at her gloves, tightening them closer to her fingers. As she reached the stairway to the gate, she turned to observe the soldiers training. They were always loud. But today, they seemed particularly riled up. Their Commander was shouting at them, correcting their stances, and striding through the rows watching carefully. He seemed so focused, his brown lowered and his lips turned down into a stern frown. It suddenly softened as he caught Claira's stare.

"Lady Herald," he called after her, causing her to stop.

He trotted through his crowd of men, but he was in no true hurry. His hair was a bit tousled, no doubt from the exercise throughout the early morning. His cheeks were very red, but if anyone spent a good amount outside they would have the same appearance.

"Do you have a moment?" he asked.

"I do," she obliged him.

"We haven't gotten a chance to truly speak," he placed a foot on the first step and rested his hands on the hilt of his sword. "That's partially my fault. I apologize."

"Not at all," Claira shook her head slightly. "You're a busy man."

"Indeed," he smirked. "Correct me if I'm out of place, but I was wondering your stance regarding the mages and tempalrs?"

Claira paused. The intent was misguided in her mind, she was certain.

"I don't recall having a stance, Commander."

"Yes, with the disputing between us, I don't recall you having a chance to speak on it."

"And so you wish for me to speak on it now?" she looked around to find they were, in fact, alone in their conversation.

"I'm simply asking your opinion, my Lady."

He was doing his best to appear curious, but Claira could see through his hardened gaze that he was seeking an argument. Perhaps he felt he could sway her into siding with the templars, given her family was close with the Chantry. Or did he know of her origin at all? No, he most certainly knew. This was a ploy if she ever knew one.

"I've hardly had a moment to observe our situation. Of course, it will depend on who we are able to reach out to. As of right now, either option looks grim in this war."

"Of course."

"But... since you ask... I'm inclined to agree with Cassandra. The mages could also be of use."

"Is that so?" he shifted, his back straightening as if to form a wall she could not break down. "What of templars?"

"The templars?" Claira tilted her head. "Many of them still follow the Lord Seeker. They've holed themselves away from this. Nulled the Nevarran Accord. It doesn't seem rational, to be honest."

"So you're saying the templars are lost?"

"What? No. No, you've proven that, Commander. But I fear there is no hope for the Order. They will act on their own, now. And it appears they have chosen to turn a blind eye."

Cullen grimaced breaking the eye contact they held. "I'm a bit disappointed to hear you say that."

"Well, I'm not here to please you. Or anyone for that matter."

"Then you won't mind humoring me with your reasoning?"

"Did you question Cassandra or Leliana with their judgment?" Claira crossed her arms against her chest.

"I trust their judgment."

"Oh!" Claira shouted, composing her stature even further. "Is this about trust, then?"

Her voice was louder than she thought, causing a few of the lingering scouts to look in their direction. But they did not stop their altercation in spite of a few curious eyes. In fact, Cullen stepped upward onto the stair his foot was resting on, bringing him closer to the Herald.

"Why wouldn't it be? They're the Hands of the Divine! She trusted them with her life."

"And they agree with my opinion, so what makes it different?"

Claira was not backing down. She matched his move, placing her dominant foot forward and down a stair. There was a respected distance between them, but the tension that rolled within that space was crashing as waves would against a rocky cliff. Many of the soldiers felt uncomfortable nearby and retreated to their tents.

"Because they'll agree with anything you say because you've been labeled the Herald of Andraste," he pointed a finger at her.

"And you'll disagree with it because that would mean things wouldn't go your way. You templars are all the same."

"What do you know of the struggles of templars and mages? The Trevelyans have been catered to for years."

"You know nothing of the Trevelyans."

A nerve was struck, and he knew it quite well. Her voice was deep and cold. Her arms dropped to her sides but her shoulders remained upright. The waves seemed to subside but the cliff remained vigilant. They both stood, their eyes not leaving the other as if to wait for some sort of outburst.

"Perhaps we should end this conversation," she lowered her tone. "I have important things to attend to before nightfall."

* * *

A night drinking at the tavern was not going to fix things for her, and she knew that very well. But going back to the Chantry meant packing for the next day. And her mind was far too busy with other things to focus on that. A few drinks would quiet her thoughts. Or so she would have herself believe. She looked down into her drink to find her reflection at the bottom disappointing. She cast it aside, alerting the barkeep of a refill.

"You look stressed," she said.

"I think I need a good rest," Claira muttered, toying with the handle of her mug.

"It might just be me, but I think sleep is the least of your concerns, Lady Herald."

There was no doubt she was right. Claira tapped the bar side, feeling her anxiety rise again. It shot up from her calves to the base of her neck and no matter how long she bounced her legs up on the barstool, it would no go away. Who was he to judge her? Why was he so salty about disagreeing with him? Why did he feel the need to bring her family into the equation? Why was he yelling? Why did he have to get so close? Why was he so pleasing to look at? No... no, no... He had no right. To be that way or to be so-

"Damn it all," Claira sat back in her chair, throwing her mug up as she let the liquid courage flow down her throat.

Cullen was in the wrong. He was just too arrogant to admit it. Still, each time the anxiety rose to rear its ugly head, she felt that slight twinge of guilt with it. Claira was a horrible liar. Even to herself. She knew she needed to apologize. She didn't know what for. Perhaps she was in the wrong for acting harshly. Or for insulting him as a templar. It mattered not. Leaving the argument as it was would cause it to fester with negative thoughts, eventually spreading doubt like a disease. It would not only be a poor way to start their fellowship with the Inquisition but also jeopardize their future of working together. It was the right thing to end the bickering now.

* * *

"Commander, the fires have nearly gone out from the cold," a captain complained while still attempting push-ups.

"Then I suppose you should have thought of that before taking a break this morning to eavesdrop."

"Yes, sir," he groaned.

Cullen's pride was often stronger than he'd like to admit. He didn't want to say his stance on the templars was wrong, but he refused to admit there was another way when he was so easily dismissed as if his thoughts and experience had no place at the table. Regardless of the Order, the templars were a part of something he felt compelled to. It was not so easy to let go and if he could do something for them, he would always choose them. There was respect for Cassandra and Leliana, and he would gladly discuss his intentions freely with them if given the chance. But something about Claira made him irritable. He knew nothing about her. And yet he was supposed to take counsel from her? He was confused and suspicious of her actions. There were still many questions he needed to be answered in order to comply with her demands. Where was she during the rebellion? Why does she sympathize with the mages when the rest of her family sent aid to the templars? Why did she feel so strongly about the mages when she had clearly never been around them?

He rubbed his chin in thought as he recalled the fierce expression when she loomed over him on the staircase. She stood against him when many would not. Still, he knew he should not have been so aggressive. A simple talk to get to know her would have sufficed. Instead, he responded with anger like a fool.

"That's enough, soldier," he said, wanting to find peace on his own. "We should get some rest. It's been a day."

Cullen was off toward his tent, too stuck in his own mind to pay attention to the sarcasm across the field. Many of them were joking under their breath about the Herald. She was fearless. And he had to admit, she most certainly was. He entered his tent, shedding his pauldrons along with his cloak and rubbing the back of his neck. A good sleep would do the trick, but he was convinced that the restlessness he felt would not allow that to happen. Claira was leaving the next morning. As much as part of him wanted to say good riddance, the other half wanted to seek her out. With nothing but doubt chasing his thoughts, he grabbed his cloak and wrapped it around his shoulders. If sleep would not ease his thinking, then a decent walk would have to do. He set out toward the pond at the edge of the camp.

* * *

Claira knew that since the sun had set, she would find Cullen in his tent. This made her even more nervous. It was difficult enough for her to seek him out, but to intrude into his personal space was beyond challenging. She would be out of her element. Then again, it was more important for her to settle things rather than let her own arrogance show. The closer she grew to his tent, the louder her heart banged against her chest. She stood in front of it for a moment, studying the slightly lifted flap. She couldn't hear him inside, even when she called out to him quietly. She lifted the canvas and found there was no one there. There was a candle, barely lit. And his pauldrons rested on a wooden chest. His bed was left messy. And there were garments unfolded but placed neatly on top of a chair next to his desk. He must not use it that often. She blushed upon seeing them, allowing the door into the tent to fall. Turning away, she half expected to return to her quarters.

"He's brooding again," she overheard a couple of scouts walking toward their tent.

"He's always brooding," the other replied.

"Not his usual brooding. This is serious."

"What makes you say that?"

"Didn't you hear? The Herald had a bit of a disagreement with him this morning. He's been sulking ever since."

"Well, who would argue with the Lady Herald?"

"I mean, it's good someone does, right? There should always be someone with a different look on things."

There it was. The guilt again. She couldn't go back to bed, now. For Maker's sake, the troops thought he was sulking of all things. Pulling her tunic tightly against her neck, she made her way to the edge of the camp. The next place she thought of was the training dummies. But as she cleared the tents and saw them lined before her, she was nearly blinded by the sight of the moons. They cast long dark shadows that contrasted the white snow. Just beyond the camp, she could make out the outline of someone walking along the edge of the pond. There was no doubt about it. It was Cullen.

As she approached him, she felt a rush of impatience as if the fingers of anxiety traced her spine. It sent a cold chill down her back. But then she caught the silhouette of the side of his face, his cheekbones and nose standing out against the cold moonlight. The trim of his fur shifted in the wind along the lining of his neck. He wasn't wearing his pauldrons and she caught a glimpse of his tunic hanging loosely from his chest. She caught herself looking and wondered why so suddenly she was thinking of him this way. Surely, it was the ale. But despite his good looks, she pressed on, reminding herself that physical appearance was only a distraction.

"Good evening, Commander," she called out to him as she neared the banks of the pond.

He turned, clearly surprised as she grew nearer.

"If I could have a word?" she requested.

Cullen looked back out toward his men, still buzzing through the camp. They were well occupied. He wanted to go back to them. He wanted to tell her no. He was not interested in what she had to say. But curiosity took the better of him. Though, he took a good long while before answering her. The brightly lit moons made the snow glow around them, reflecting light onto her pale skin. He had noticed her freckles after being so close that morning, but never really looked at them on her face. They traced her cheekbones under her eyes. And along the left side, she had a faint tattoo. It also appeared that her hair was cut by her own doing, being much longer on one side than the other. Her nose was quite prominent but her lips were full. As were her cheekbones. And her eyes were shaped like almonds. For a moment, he lingered on how she was quite beautiful. He also noted she was still in her armor, which meant she never went back to her quarters. Which led him to believe she lied in order to end the conversation.

"Of course," he responded plainly.

Claira was quiet for a time, listening to the sound of their feet crunch through the snow. She thought it would be rude not to appreciate the moons and the setting it had laid before her. The stars were always so clear above them. But for that night, they glistened with magic in the sky. If anything were to go wrong, she hoped she could at least remember that moment.

"I want to apologize for my behavior," she finally began. "I feel terrible for the way I've spoken to you."

Cullen wanted to agree with the statement but quickly shut his mouth. He would not ruin the conversation the second it had begun. If she wanted to speak, he wanted to be welcoming.

"It isn't just me you are disagreeing with. I shouldn't take it so personally," she continued.

Claira stopped after realizing they were closer to camp, now. She did not want the others to hear as much of their conversation as they had before. Cullen gestured toward his tent nearby.

"You were rather defensive from the beginning," he pointed out. "I'm not exactly sure where the conversation took its turn."

Claira reflected upon their previous encounter as they approached Cullen's tent. He lifted the flap for himself but did not bother to appeal to the courtesy of welcoming her into his sleeping quarters. She flinched as it fell upon her, but stepped in, regardless. He was reaching across his shoulder to untie his cloak when she spoke.

"To be fair, you were rather demanding."

He stopped for a few seconds to glare in her direction. Looking slowly back over to his shoulder, he wisked his cloak off with one gesture and lay it across his exposed garments. She was correct in guessing he was not one for sitting but also embarrassed for peering into his tent without his presence.

"No, you're right," he said, squinting at a scroll written in small lettering. "Your interrogation should have ended the moment Cassandra began to trust you."

He put the letter down but has hands pressed against the desk for longer than they should have. He closed his eyes, lower his head deep in thought. Guilt and forgiveness were not emotions he was good at portraying.

"I couldn't have expected everyone to set aside their doubts," she assured him. "You were right. They value my decision-making due to the circumstances. I haven't considered this and have taken that thought lightly. It's just... it still feels so odd. The title hasn't settled with me. I do no understand its weight. I only feel like myself. Like a person."

"You humble me, my Lady," Cullen sighed as he straightened up. "I should not have doubted you, to begin with. I apologize."

"No no, please," she insisted, stepping toward the candlelight. "As a leader, I should reflect on my impact on others as well as listening to opposing opinions. When the time comes, I want you to come forward."

"When the time comes?" he questioned her wording.

"I'm truly not certain of what will happen between the templars and mages. The Hinterlands will be a representation of this war. I know where I stand, but there will be a time for all of us to speak. And I hope you will continue to speak your mind."

"Even if we disagree?"

"In most circumstances, I would ask for you to speak if you disagree," she affirmed. "I find an arguing opinion can leave an open-minded compromise. However, it appears with this specific case, we seem to be... stuck. It's a sensitive subject for us all. But that doesn't mean you should change your mind because no one agrees with you. I won't suppress your choice. I do hope, though, that we can move past this disagreement once the decision is made."

Claira knew her truth would put Cullen at ease. But she owed him nothing. Especially if he was going to be difficult to reason with. In return, Cullen felt the very same. At the very least with their conversation ending in agreeing to disagree, they could tend to the matter more delicately without a bitter taste for the other. They knew in the near future, they would clash once again. And hopefully, when that happened, their understanding would have grown.


	5. The Stuff of Nightmares

"Are you sure you're ready to leave, my Lady?"

"I'm never ready for anything anymore, Harding," Claira shouted through the rain. "But I have to report back to Haven.

"Fair enough," she shouted back.

"Let's begin the debriefing, then," Corporal Vale decreed.

The wind was blowing mercilessly, making it very difficult to hear one another inside the meeting point. It was a small hut within the Crossroads. Many of the other buildings there were damaged but it remained one of the few left still standing strong. It was home to one of the villagers who didn't mind standing by while the Inquisition made use of it. Claira withdrew her papers from a satchel at her side. She didn't need to read from them, as she was aware of what the reports mentioned. After all, she was the one who wrote them. She rolled them up neatly, tying them with a red ribbon before slipping them into a wooden tube.

"The Hinterlands remain an unsafe area for further Inquisition occupation," she began with the agreement of the others surrounding her. "During my time here, I have managed to acquire supplies for refugees as well as fellow agents. A cult in the southeast, posing as no threat, has agreed to take in others and aid the camps nearby. A bandit camp to the southwest was also been eliminated, providing more shelter and supplies to the camps."

"We have made no advancements toward the thieve's fortress or the cult castle," Vale reminded Claira. "It's still a bit unsafe. Our troops have made contact, but are assessing the situation further."

"As they should," Claira proclaimed. "Reach out to Scout Harding if you run into trouble. She should be able to provide support. Furthermore, I've been unable to reach Dennet at this time. The conflict between the mages and templars has prevented any sort of contact to and from the northern Hinterlands. We will have to resolve that issue upon return. I would like to follow Mother Giselle back to Haven to ensure her safety."

"With the rogue templars watching the main routes, I think this is our best option," Cassandra thought aloud.

"We've all read and signed the reports, yes?" Claira looked at her peers.

They all nodded.

"Corporal Vale, if there is anything you need-"

"I know where to find you," he assured her.

"Very good. Then we'll take our leave. Harding, would you mind sending this for me?"

"Of course," Harding took the scroll from the Herald's hands.

"Luck be with you, Lady Herald," Corporal Vale brought his fist to his chest.

* * *

The entire journey back, Claira thought about how nice it would be to fall into her bed. How warm the bath would feel. How good the food would taste. Unfortunately, Haven had other plans. After bidding farewell to Varric and Solas at the tavern, Claira walked up the stairs toward the Chantry with the intent to deliver research information. She was eager to see the Chantry Sisters chattering with excitement as she arrived. Only it wasn't the usual welcoming party she had expected. Instead, she was greeted by a rather large crowd that had no intention of acknowledging her at all.

"Your kind killed the most holy!" a templar shouted angrily.

"Lies!" a mage retaliated. "Your kind let her die!"

Remaining amid the common people, Claira began to assess the situation. The people around her murmured words across one another in hushed whispers. They would not dare to get involved. She listened closely but could not make out the details of what had gone wrong. Deciding she could assist with a better view, she brushed shoulders with the crowd. If need be, she would intervene.

"Shut your mouth, mage," the templar drew his sword.

With her hand gripping the hilt of her own sword, she stepped forward. But she was not nearly as quick as she needed to be.

"Enough!"

The voice came from absolutely nowhere. He would have been easy to pick out among the others, but she had not spotted him. And he threw himself between them, right in front of both a sharpened sword and glowing staff. His risen arms were a warning that they should remain the distance between his fingertips, although his stare was enough to keep them at bay.

"Knight-Captain," the templar stepped back first, sheathing his sword instantly.

"That is not my title," Cullen said with a glare colder than the ground they were standing on. "We are not templars any longer. We are all part of the Inquisition."

"And what does that mean, exactly?" an antagonizing voice appeared.

Claira lowered her brow as she felt the irritation growing under her skin the moment he strode in front of the Commander. She wanted to attempt to get closer but did not want to draw attention to herself. There was no doubt she would be harassed and she was his favorite target.

"Back already, Chancellor?" Cullen sneered, and it made her grin. "Haven't you done enough?"

"I'm curious, Commander," he said stepping closer. "As to how your Inquisition and its Herald will restore order as you've promised."

"Of course you are," Cullen growled in response. It almost sounded as if he was being defensive about her. But she would not take it to heart.

"Back to your duties," he said, turning away from the Chancellor. "All of you!"

The crowd began to thin, but she remained, pushing past them to see them clearly. In times like these, Claira was never permitted to speak. She was too blunt and often said the wrong things. Though, the more time she spent with the Inquisition, the more she realized that being straightforward wasn't always a bad thing.

"Mages and templars were already at war. Now they're blaming each other for the Divine's death," Cullen went on.

"Which is why we require a proper authority to guide them back to order."

"Who? You?" she saw Cullen's brow raise. "Random clerics, who weren't important enough to be at the Conclave?"

Claria recognized the sharp blade of his tongue. Only this time, it was turned toward the Chancellor. Between the humility of the fool and Cullen's mocking tone, she was taken over by the adrenaline of watching vicariously and decided now was a good time to catch forward. Cullen had caught sight of her and nodded slightly in somewhat of relief of her being there.

"The rebel Inquisition and its so-called 'Herald of Andraste'? I think not."

Either he didn't know Claira was standing nearby or he didn't care.

"Don't be so disagreeable, Roderick," she chimed in, making him roll his eyes at the sound of her voice. "The Inquisition seems as functional as any young family."

"How many families are on the verge of splitting into open warfare with themselves?"

"Yes," Cullen sarcastically snickered. "Because that would never happen to the Chantry."

Claira bit her bottom lip in an attempt to remain serious on the matter. But between the Chancellor's scowled face and Cullen's smirk, it proved to be quite difficult.

"Centuries of tradition will guide us. We are not an upstart eager to turn over every apple cart."

"Yet here you are," Claira grumbled. "Do we know how widespread the violence is between mages and templars?"

"Impossible to say as of yet," the Commander replied.

"...organization floating the Chantry's authority will not help matters," Roderick kept babbling. But they were not interested in what he had to say as they continued to commute with each other.

"With the Conclave destroyed, I imagine the war between mages and templars is renewed... with interest," he went on.

"As we have witnessed today... The mages and templars are fighting... even though we don't really know what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes?" she asked her Commander.

"Exactly why all this should be left to a new Divine," Roderick clasped his hands together at his waist. "If you are innocent, the Chantry will establish it as so."

"Or will be happy to use someone as a scapegoat," Cullen snapped.

"You think nobody cares about the truth? We all grieve Justinia's loss," he spat.

"But you won't grieve if the Herald of Andraste is conveniently swept under a carpet."

Claira could not decide if she was more surprised by the fact that she was still being blamed for the Conclave or that Cullen confirmed he was defending her. With the way they had fought before she left, she had assumed things between them would be awkward for a time. Their exchange of apologies must have truly made a difference, as Cullen was proving to be quite passionate about keeping the Herald from Chantry hands

"Remind me why you are allowing the Chancellor to stay, Commander?" her eyes drifted over to Cullen's face, tireless of the Chancellor's rambling as well.

"Clearly, your templar knows where to draw the line," Roderick's words were meant to be bold, but no one took him seriously.

"He's toothless," Cullen stated, unaffected by the man. "There's no point in turning him into a martyr simply because he runs at the mouth. The Chancellor's a good indicator of what to expect in Val Reoux, however."

"Well, let's hope we find a solution there and not a cathedral full of Chancellors," she turned to sarcasm as her savior, as always.

"The stuff of nightmares," he grinned in return.

"Mock if you will," Roderick was appeared offended. "I'm sure the Maker is less..."

But she did not catch the entirety of what he said. She was too busy attempting to stifle her laughter as Cullen directed a humoring brow-raising expression followed by a dramatic eye roll. It would be far too obvious to bring a hand to her mouth. So instead, she continued to bite her lip and looked at her feet. The Chancellor's chatter did not cease but continued until it faded to the minimum. Claira turned Cullen.

"I didn't realize I was gone long enough for the Chantry to prepare a protest," she teased. "I will be gone to Orlais much longer."

"The walls should still be standing when you return... I hope," he shrugged with a teasing glance.

* * *

"Chancellor Roderick came to speak with me..." Josephine scolded, tapping her pen against her clipboard as Cullen entered the room. "Could you try not to antagonize him?"

It was unfair the attention was drawn directly toward him the moment he entered the room. He paused to look at them but was altogether completely unphased. Claira caught a glimpse of his gaze before he quickly looked away. It must have been much easier for him to hide his grin than it was for her. She resorted to taking a rather large bite from the apple in her hand lest she showed him just how interested she was in his display of sarcasm.

"If I offend the man so easily, perhaps he should try leaving me alone," he suggested as he took his place.

"Cullen..." Josephine sighed.

"In his defense," Claria swallowed what was left, "Roderick came out of nowhere during an altercation. I just happened to arrive at the same time."

"You are not helping," Josephine leaned forward to point her quill at her. "I'm not going to stand here and chide you both like children for making faces behind the Chancellor's back."

"I wasn't the one making faces," Claira grumbled quietly.

Josephine had her fill of mothering for the day. She turned to Cassandra and Leliana for support, but they were doing their best to hide their laughter as well.

"You two should know better," she shook her head at the Hands. "I'm done trying to get any of you to act mature when speaking to this man."

"Perhaps Cullen is right," Leliana stated calmly. "He should likely try his best not to bother us if he does not want to be further upset."


End file.
